Hate the taste? burn it down

Burning barn

Wounds

A life based on numbers
is like a needle pushed slowly into the skin
it’s difficult to know where to begin
to explain the waterfall of pain in counting
and how it holds you aloft while also
reminding you how everything else descends
like empty shells washed up on beaches
after our final night of tides and winds
no one remembers the dark currents of pain
that pull us from shore bruising every surface
when dreams and the sea both come up empty 
we just get smaller while we wait breathless
for answers from the movements of machines 
that never pretend they care who we are
or know the difference between love and fear
when life is something only for the counting

(From my cancer notebook.
Tonight we break the rules, we break the boredom,
we break the counting, we break the pleasing,
we break the old ideas, we break the lies,
we break the rusty cage of dead ways of thinking.)

For my badass friend Helen Meyers, and her sanity472.

photo credits (where not otherwise credited)

“burning barn” / Stephen Radford / Unsplash